The Iron Forest: Ancestor's Legacy

Mountains, scraping the sky with their snow-capped peaks, shortened to hills as Sana rode alongside her new tribe. Since the break of dawn, they followed the banks of the Grand River that snaked through Shankur lands into Kutassan territory.

She spent little time beyond the forested mountains and felt insecure among the low rolling hills. Her band of riders didn’t help much, either. Wooden carriage wheels, grinding across gravel and dirt, sounded like thunder from a storm. That and constant chatter among the Kutassan warriors, mixed with an occasional bark from the prince, made Sana wonder if the Chotukhan could hear their parade from Gathal.

Shayla rode at her side with wide eyes, taking in the sights. To her, this world was foreign. Her life spent among the mountains and unlike Sana she revealed the previous night that she had never ventured beyond her own village.

“I never thought there was this much sky,” Shayla said in awe.

“It was always there. You just can’t see it through the trees.” Sana pointed behind her to a snow-capped peak that emerged above a ridgeline. It towered it above all the rest despite the further distance. “I once stood on top of that mountain. You can see the entire world from there.”

“That must have been wonderful.”

Sana nodded. “It was, at first, but then became cold and hard to breathe.” She chuckled. “It’s a funny thing. I practiced for a year to climb that mountain, expecting it to feel like standing on the top of the world. Instead, I felt small and insignificant, only to realize my achievement was the halfway point. I still had to go down.”

“I never thought of it that way.”

“Neither did I.” She said, reminding herself of what transpired before she left Maholin. “Apparently, every reward I get is balanced with disappointment.”

They stopped occasionally to feed and water the elk before heading further east. She paid little attention to her future family, preferring to stay ahead of the nobles but toward the rear of the soldiers. That way, she kept her distance from the prince’s ramblings while being on the lookout for impending dangers. If only I had my spear, I would lead this group, but Father insisted I had no use for it anymore.

The day grew late as the land turned flat with few hills. All around, isolated groups of cedar trees grew in clumps like green islands in a sea of brown grass. They proceeded along the river where the hills began again, and the trees grew thicker. Sana looked ahead and saw the column disappearing beyond a tall thicket. Tops of houses peaked above the flora with sections of exposed palisade, marking the beginnings of a new village.

“It is not much, but the Kutassan need little to be happy,” Chief Tonus said, appearing at her side. “Our people prefer the simpler life rather than the extravagance of Gathal or Maholin. You will come to love our town in time.”

Sana gave a polite smile. “I’m sure it’s just lovely.”

“We think so. And the best thing is no mountains. All that climbing to get from here to there is far too tiresome.” The chief’s cheeks flushed. “And the food. Oh, Princess Sana, wait until you’ve tasted Kutassan cuisine: spicy trout, honey glazed pheasant, and enough ale to put all your worries to rest. Plenty enough to make you fat and have lots of babies.”

Sana laughed to cover her horror. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, my Chief.” She glanced back at the prince, wondering if there will be any love in their marriage. Her mother and father shared a similar arrangement as hers, but they quickly fell in love.

Sana had her doubts.

Simple was the only word Sana used to describe the town of Saratan: A layer of dust covered everything with windswept sand piled against corners and walls. Still, there was a quaint charm to the village. The mud-covered stone houses were positioned in tidy rows along cobble stone streets, unlike Maholin where the mountainside determined where to place the homes. In the town’s center, a community square separated the residences and markets from the royal manor, the largest building in Saratan.

The royal manor’s foundation of granite stones, carved square and set in neat rows, held a wooden single-story building that consumed a large section of town.

Sana sighed. Welcome home.

Nighttime in the eastern land had a different appeal as the mountain shadows enveloped the town. Crickets and frogs’ chirping blended into music from the town square. The people wasted no time to celebrate the upcoming matrimony and new relation to the tribes in the west. Sana sat in her new bedchamber listening to the festivities through her window. Half of her felt bad about ignoring the celebration in her name, the other half cared less since she was forced here by tradition.

A knock at the door jerked Sana from her growing depression. “I’m not in the mood for company, Shayla.”

The young girl’s bright expression was enjoyable, but not welcome. Only a few hours spent in Saratan, and Sana already missed the comfort of Maholin and warmth of Ikesh’s embrace.

“It’s Amaya, my Princess,” a small voice called through the door. “May I enter?”

Sana paused, still not in the mood for visitors, but she had yet to meet with her future sister-in-law with formality and didn’t want her first impression as a negative one. She opened the door, commenting, “You may enter on one condition.”

“And that is?”

Sana smiled. “Don’t call me princess. It’s just Sana.”

“As you wish,” Amaya said, moving into the bedchamber. She was tall, thin, and graceful, with a waterfall of black hair. Candlelight reflected off the sheen of her dress made from fine woven flax. She glanced around at the room, focusing on the single wooden chest in the corner. “Where’s your belongings?”

Sana pointed to the chest. “That’s it.”

Amaya fetched a candle and assessed Sana’s buckskin trousers and cotton tunic she was wearing. “I don’t mean to offend, but you dress like a commoner.”

“Like a warrior.”

“But you’re a lady. Why not dress as one?”

“I’ve never been fond of dresses. They are too restrictive, not much good in a fight.”

Amaya huffed. “Come with me. I’ll get you fixed up.”

They headed to what Sana assumed was Amaya’s bedchamber. Upon entering, she gasped at the collection of cottons, furs, and everything imaginable that could be worn, scattered throughout the room.

“First, we need a clean canvas to work with,” Amaya said, smiling. Without hesitation, she began pulling all the ties that held Sana’s clothes together, starting with her tunic. It took only a few seconds till Sana stood there in the drafty room wearing nothing but her under clothes.

“Is all this necessary?”

Amaya frowned. “Yes, yes, it is. When I’m done, you will be the prettiest warrior anyone has ever laid eyes on.”

Fabric sheets of every color were tested for reasons Sana could not understand. Amaya ranted about the way colors accentuated her features and pale skin, while certain items afforded protection. She pranced around, laughing and giggling like a child playing dress up. Sana couldn’t help but join in her laughter as well while different materials were thrown at her to put on.

Suddenly, Amaya stopped and stared at Sana with wide eyes. “Gaia’s mercy! I have totally out done myself.” She moved Sana to stand in front of a large sheet of polished metal.

Loose cloth of blue cotton flowed over her like a waterfall. A boiled leather corset bound everything together with the same cloth, falling to the floor and split along her legs. Deer-skin trousers hid beneath the skirt with matching bracers around each arm.

“It’s beautiful,” Sana whispered. The outfit was just the right amount of warrior and femininity; nothing restricted her movement and bits of skin were on display, yet she was still covered to guard against man and nature.

Amaya took Sana’s hand. “Let’s go meet your future subjects.”

“Subjects?”

“You know, your people. All that ruckus outside is a festival in honor of you and my brother.” Sana almost forgot about the marriage celebration.

Amaya towed Sana through the manor and into the streets of Saratan at a near run. Torchlight from a massive bonfire in the center of the town square beckoned them forward. Hundreds, maybe thousands of people were out. Different meats sizzling over hot coals gave off enough aroma Sana could taste. Everyone they passed had spilling wine goblets. There were constant smiles and genuine laughter. It was a different place than what she saw upon arrival.

Women in sheer attire danced around the bonfire for Gaia’s blessing of fertility. In between their routines, men wearing furs pranced, speaking of long told legends. It was half dance and half theater.

One told a tale of a man threatened by a rattlesnake only to be saved by a badger. As the black-robed singer recollected the events, men dressed as characters re-enacted the legend with each verse. She watched with intent, noting how the badger saved the man by allowing the snake to bite him instead. This left the snake defenseless and gave the man an opportunity to kill it.

No sooner than the tale ended, dozens of people filled in the square to dance. Sana wondered if this extravagance was a rare site, or something the Kutassans did often. Either way, she never seen the Shankur revel with such enthusiasm. Even the chief, surrounded by a crowd of elders, bellowed laughter between each gulp of wine.

“Well, are you going to stand there like a statue or are you going to have fun?” Amaya shouted above the thumping music and stomping feet.

Sana shook her head. “I don’t know if I can. I’m not much of a dancer.”

“Nonsense!” Amaya tugged at her arm. “Just do what I do. Don’t worry about messing up. Everyone’s too drunk to notice.”

Men and women twirled around each other, shifting from one partner to the next. Soon, Amaya was lost in the chaos of people. Sana tried to follow, learning their steps, but the swirl made her dizzy. A feeble attempt at escaping the crowd failed when a tall soldier scooped her up and passed her to another. Again and again, Sana shifted, locking arms and twirling to the rhythm of the pounding drums. She felt the music in her chest, an ache from her laughter, and freedom from the weight of obligation.

The music stopped and Sana turned. The crowd parted to reveal Prince Tonlun, standing tall with his hand outstretched toward her. He gave a welcoming smile. How could I not? The entire Kutassan tribe was watching, making her feel uneasy. She stepped forward and accepted his offer.

The music resumed, but with a slower beat and softer tone. She didn’t know the steps, nor the song being played, but she didn’t have to. Her every move was guided by Tonlun’s delicate hand. She felt like a leaf in a gentle breeze. To her surprise, the once skinny man became a giant with the power of dance.

The rest of the town joined them, keeping in sync to their shifting and twirling. Tonlun pulled her close, pushed her away, then spun her around to the drum’s beat.

He leaned toward her. “I never got the chance to apologize.”

“For what?” She asked, confused.

Another twirl sent him away and back again. “For all this.” He gestured to the town and crowd. “I think it’s terrible how our fathers ripped you from your home and tossed you away…”

They parted again with arms stretched outward, but hands still clasped.

He continued, “I’m truly sorry for what you’re going through. I would have said something earlier, but lacked the courage.”

She smiled at the kind gesture. “Courage to do what?”

“To speak to a woman as beautiful as you.”

The dance ended with cheers, applause, and pounding drums. They bowed to onlookers as men and women celebrated the future husband and wife’s first dance together.

Sana looked aside. “It appears you have more courage than you give yourself credit for. Thank you.” She said, but the way he leaned toward her meant he couldn’t hear above the noise.

They moved away from the crowd that started another dance.

“You were saying?” He asked.

Sana grabbed both his hands and grinned. “I wanted to say—”

He froze. His eyes wide.

“Prince Tonlun?” She moved back and gasped. There was an arrow jutting from his chest.

A scream from beyond, followed by another, then another. Arrows thumped the ground, appearing from nowhere. Men and women ran. Soldiers shouted frantic commands.

“We’re under attack!” cried a soldier near her, waving people to find cover.

Sana ran, but not in panic. People were dying all around her and she needed to help them—she needed a weapon.

It didn’t take long for bodies to fill the town square, nor did it take long for the arrows to stop. Cries of pain and loss echoed throughout Saratan, but the rumble of countless hooves muffled them. Riders are coming! Ancestors be damned.

She reached the palisade, still unarmed but ready to fight. Other soldiers ran alongside, their faces full of worry as they gathered near the western gates. The way they held their swords and spears told Sana these were not warriors, but merely armed men.

“Princess Sana, you shouldn’t be here,” a voice cried out. It was a dark-skinned man who carried a torch in one hand and a spear in the other. “I beg you please return to the manor house. The town is under attack.”

“I’m well aware of that, Captain. But I’m here to fight.”

He reared back as the western gates buckled. Wood posts, heavy and thick, splintered and snapped. Horns as long as Sana’s arm burst through the gates. Bison, massive beasts bred for war, breeched the palisade. A few unlucky soldiers, standing in their path, were trampled under the creatures’ weight. Others were tossed aside. Sana snatched the spear from the captain’s hands and launched it at an approaching bison. The blade-tip buried deep in the animal’s skull, sending it skidding across the ground. It stopped, just short of the petrified dark-skinned captain.

“Like I said, I’m here to fight.”

The captain nodded; eyes wide.

“Who’s attacking us?” She could guess but wanted her suspicion to be confirmed.

“Chotukhan! Damn bloody Chotukhan.”

Hooves thundering the ground grew louder, snuffing out the shouting of soldiers and screams of townsfolk. The gate, torn to shreds, revealed the elk riders. They poured through the palisade, carrying torches, like an avalanche of fire. All Sana saw was a flurry of antlers.

“Fall back! Use the houses as cover!” she shouted.

There was no running from the mounted soldiers. War elks were bred for centuries with the temperament and strength needed for battle. Unlike their wild cousins, these beasts had thicker legs, more muscle, and sharp forward-pointing antlers. Their riders were no less terrible. Faces painted with white and black stripes, they covered themselves in armor salvaged from Reapers and carried long-handled swords.

Fire soon set houses ablaze. Sana’s skin burned from the heat. Over a hundred war elks passed through the gate until the foot soldiers appeared in columns, four men wide. Their white painted armor reflected the surrounding fires. This is not an attack, but a massacre.

“Captain, we need to…” She turned to address the dark-skinned soldier, but her words were lost as antlers tore through him.

She dove away from the charging elk, grabbing the spear and rolled into a fighting stance. The rider turned for another attack, but Sana was ready. She planted her feet, gripping her weapon. The rider swung his sword in a wide arc, but Sana blocked it and spun, parting the rider’s back from shoulder to side. Another elk charged, but a return swing removed two of its legs, sending its rider to the dirt. She ended the rider’s life with a final stab with her spear.

Sana saw soldiers running and screaming, swinging their swords and spears at anyone within reach. She spent a lifetime training in the warrior’s art, but nothing prepared her for the death that surrounded her.

Several screams, loud and familiar, echoed from the nearby manor. Shayla! Amaya! Sana darted and dodged through the chaos of swinging blades and fleeing people. The last organization of Kutassan soldiers used the manor as a place to make a last stand. Sana could see the fear on their faces that shined with fire and sweat.

“On me!” she shouted, waving the soldiers to gather at the manor’s entrance. “Form a line! Form a line!”

Veteran warriors barked orders to get the Kutassan troops to form rows and columns while Chotukhan soldiers rushed against her make-shift defense. It was a time to fight or die and Sana was ready. The Chotukhan met death as she swung and stabbed her spear from one enemy to the next.

Still, too many soldiers attacked. Sana doubted her skill as she couldn’t swing fast enough nor hard enough to stop the tide. Her thrust toward a Chotukhan missed, but a quick back swing sliced the man across his gut.

Another miss, then another.

Her arms ached.

A wild swing from a howling man sent steel across her thigh. Sana screeched, then a slam to her back from a sword’s pommel took the wind from her lungs. She rolled to avoid more hits, but the dead, lying around her prevented any escape. Young boys stared back at her with lifeless eyes, and she gagged. A Chotukhan soldier appeared above her, swinging the butt of his spear at her head—.